A Good Man is Hard to Find
by circleofstars
Summary: "I've seen him in danger so many times. And there was always some last-minute miracle to come to the rescue. It was all so lucky, and so unlikely. I should have known that one day, that eleventh-hour stroke of luck would fail." AU starting from "The Sword in the Stone," part 1.
1. Chapter 1

_**A Good Man is Hard to Find**_

Arthur followed Merlin into the trees at a lurching run, his back curled slightly to protect his aching ribs. He ushered Guinevere ahead of him, fearful that she might fall behind with Agravaine and his baying hounds so close on their heels. The ground sloped steeply upwards, treacherous and uneven. Gwen took a fistful of her skirts in one hand and ran in earnest, and Arthur, ever-vigilant, stayed close behind. The smoke from the village was heavy on the air even as they climbed further and the trees thinned out. The slope was covered in dry tufts of grass and loose shale, but ahead, the rock face of the mountain loomed. Arthur's lungs seized in horror – the hunters were so close he could feel their whoops and hollers moving the hairs on the back of his neck, and they would be trapped against the rock. He sought out Merlin's eyes, uncomprehending. The servant had halted, ahead, helping Isolde up the precipitous incline of the last few feet.

"Into the caves!" he called. "We can lose them in here." Without further explanation he slipped out of sight through a crack which seemed barely wide enough for a man. Isolde vanished after him, then Tristan, who was obliged to turn sideways, squeezed through into the darkness. Arthur glanced back, and saw the bright torches spread out among the trees, a shadowy multitude in the dusk.

"_Arthur._" Guinevere's insistent voice drew him back, and he followed her quickly. Inside it was impossible to tell the width or depth of the tunnel, and yet Merlin, with the serendipitous foresight which he occasionally showed, had acquired a torch which threw a flickering yellow pall over each of their faces.

Merlin's eyes met Arthur's across the cave. He looked wretched. Arthur shook his head impatiently – his friend's unfortunate habit of assuming guilt for things which weren't his doing was endearing, but it would have to wait. "Go – we'll follow you."

Merlin scuttled into the gloom. They staggered after him, half-blindly groping towards the yellow light cut with the shadows of the two mercenaries. Telling himself it was for her reassurance, Arthur placed a steadying hand on Guinevere's lower back. He felt dizzy with relief and confusion at finding her here, now. Now, he told himself, was not the time to puzzle out what was between them. The ground was rocky and moved underfoot, and both of them stumbled, clutching blindly at the cave walls, which were always closer than expected, black and invisible in the dark. Gwen cracked her shin on an outcrop and yelped, and his arms reached for her instinctively.

"I'm fine," she whispered breathlessly.

A few stumbling, hurried steps later, Arthur's head struck the ceiling hard enough for him to momentarily lose all sense of his surroundings except for her warm fingers pulling him inexorably on. Possibly there were forks in the tunnel, but it was too uniformly gloomy for anything to be clear besides the torch ahead. Abruptly it stopped, and Arthur heard a muffled thump and an apology as Gwen bumped into Tristan's back.

Merlin's voice floated back to him. "Arthur – the tunnels come out on the other side of the mountain. We should be able to take cover in the woods... I think we're close."

Arthur nodded. He hadn't heard any sounds of pursuit since they entered the cave. The darkness pressed on him like a blanket, and his head was still ringing. He could feel a thin trickle of blood sliding off his eyebrow and down the side of his face, making his eye sting where it ran into the corner. He felt directionless, this mad flight was a last, desperate hope to salvage some tiny remnant from the ashes and the ruins. He couldn't have said whether the brief months of his reign and the tentative control he had gained over the kingdom had been a dream, or this, perhaps, a nightmare, this abrupt return to chaos. Lost as he was, it was instinctive to throw his trust upon Merlin.

They were moving again. Gwen was limping, so he gripped her waist and elbow from behind, the tunnel being too narrow for anything but single file. His eyes burned with the effort of focusing on a flame in relentless darkness. Somewhere nearby, water was dripping.

The coldness of moonlight struck like a blade, as painful and as sudden. Merlin's momentum was abruptly reversed, and with a wordless yell he tried to hurl himself back into the tunnel, but collided with Isolde and Tristan and lurched forward again. He screamed "Arthur, no!" just as the king followed Guinevere out into the light. The moonlight's harshness was bolstered by torches and the gleam of bared steel. Agravaine sneered in triumph. Theywere surrounded. Arthur quickly crushed Guinevere against the rock behind him, reaching for his sword. Scornful Tristan seemed resigned to a fight, too, but Isolde was grey-faced, and Merlin already struggling, stamping viciously on the toes of the soldiers holding him. The odds were appalling. Tristan raised his sword, and Agravaine signalled to his men.

"Stop!" Arthur heard the cry as though it were somebody else's voice. His uncle, face twisted in a bitter smile, held up his hand.

"I will come with you. Let them go."

He heard Merlin's strangled denial, felt Guinevere freeze at his back, but ignored them both.

"You have nothing left to bargain with, Arthur."

"I will come," he repeated. "Bring me alive to my sister, to dispose with as it pleases her. Or I will force you to kill me here, and I will take as many as I can with me. Perhaps even you, uncle."

"Arthur, this is madness." Merlin had found his voice. "I won't let you do this."

"You will." He was careful not to meet his friend's eyes. "You will take Guinevere and the others away from here and keep them safe. And never return to Camelot."

"Why would I release your accomplices, nephew?" Agravaine's insidious voice cut in.

"They are nothing to you."

"But they are something to you."

"All I have left. But you know my offer is worth taking."

Agravaine leaned back and considered. Both men knew that Morgana would relish the chance to be the author of her brother's destruction. And Agravaine did not doubt that his nephew could make good on his threats.

"Agreed."

Arthur took a step forward, freeing Gwen from where he had pinned her against the wall. He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

"_Arthur."_ Merlin protested, again. In the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Tristan glaring at him in disbelief, as though he had suddenly presumed to grow a second head.

"Go, Merlin," he insisted, pushing Gwen towards his friend as gently as he could manage with shaking hands.

"I won't leave you," the stubborn servant persisted.

"You would _insult_ me by dying here now!" he spat, his voice breaking. "Get out."

Gwen gave him a tearful, reproachful look, then took Merlin by the arm and pulled him away, past the soldiers and out of sight. Silent, Tristan and Isolde followed. Arthur barely felt the rough hands binding his wrists, or the noose thrown loosely over his neck. His sword and dagger were taken, and his uncle seemed to be still speaking, but he heard nothing. He was yanked and pushed and manhandled over the shale as far as the tree line. Without warning, a fist in his stomach made him double over, followed swiftly by a boot in his ribs which shattered his breath. He wriggled awkwardly upright and met Agravaine's furious gaze.

"I said, mount."

For the first time Arthur became aware of the horse in front of him, and he obeyed laboriously. Agravaine mounted as well, and pulled lightly on the leash, tightening the rope on Arthur's throat. He nudged the horse to follow his uncle's, to spare his lungs from further abuse. The image of his father's disappointment, if only he could see what his heir had been reduced to, haunted him, alongside Gwen's desperate tear-streaked face. But most of all, Merlin's glare of horror and betrayal would not fade. And yet, even if Gwen and Merlin never forgave him for this, at least they would live to cherish their resentment. It was with this hollow comfort that he rode home.

~/~/~/~/~/

"Idiot," Merlin was muttering in her ear. "Bloody noble fool. Moron. Idiot. Of all the bloody stupid..."

"Please stop it Merlin," Gwen said at length. "I can't bear it." They watched the column of horses move off. Gwen's eyes punished her by following every weary line of Arthur's silhouette until he was swallowed by darkness.

"I'll never forgive him for this," Merlin murmured, apparently to himself.

"It was the only thing he could do," Tristan growled unexpectedly. "We would all have been killed."

Merlin's face twisted guiltily. Gwen knew she should be assuring him that it wasn't his fault, promising that they would think of something, but the words were dry in her throat. Horror was roiling in her stomach; it felt unbearable to blame Arthur, and yet she cursed him for his naive selflessness, and Merlin for the failed escape, and every conceivable fate and decision which had brought them here. Arthur's choked cry as a soldier kicked him in the ribs, even from a distance, had torn through her like a spear. Every tree, every shaft of moonlight, even the mountain itself seemed traitors to her, conspirators in Arthur's surrender. Silently, Merlin began the long walk back to Ealdor. Gwen followed automatically.

The night had grown cold.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Two**

Morning was the colour of ashes in Ealdor. Merlin scarcely had the energy to be horrified at what Agravaine's dogs had done to his home. A few houses were still standing, but nothing close to his mother's house. He approached uncertainly and found her sitting on their old hearth stone, surrounded by crumbling ruins. He closed his eyes and blew out a long sigh of relief.

"Mother," he whispered. She glanced up sharply and staggered to her feet at the sight of her exhausted, grey-faced son, and the young woman trailing behind him.

"Merlin! We saw the soldiers – we thought you were lost."

Merlin watched his mother falter as she took in his expression. "They took Arthur, mother," he choked, reaching clumsily to grip her arm. "They took him, and I couldn't do anything." He glanced cautiously over his shoulder at Gwen, and repeated, "I _couldn't_ do anything."

Hunith wrapped her arms around her son, feeling the trembling of his thin frame. She shushed him gently. "You'll make this right. I know you will."

Merlin felt a sob building in his stomach, so heavy he could scarcely breathe. How, he wondered, could he possibly make this right? He had stood and let his best friend deliver himself into the jaws of death; he had felt the deep well of magic inside him and still just stood by, crippled by doubt. If he had put his trust in Arthur – if he had used his magic openly, and thrown himself upon the king's mercy, they might still have him. Angry, probably, and hating Merlin for the years of lies, but at least he would be safe. Or if Merlin had not gambled on nobody but himself knowing the mountain, and made them so vulnerable by leading them into the tunnels. He felt like a fool, a coward and a traitor.

He wriggled away from his mother's comfort. The two women were looking at him like he might shatter at any moment. He felt like he might, indeed – the adrenaline of the headlong flight had faded in the long, despairing walk home. His instincts, usually so proactive, were fully in favour of curling into a ball and wallowing in self-accusation.

"You mustn't blame yourself, Merlin," Gwen said, as though she'd read his mind, but she sounded like the words were wrenched from her with a crow bar.

He closed his fingers into fists at his sides and forced himself to take a deep breath and think, shoving aside despair and regret and self-loathing and striving for some sort of clarity.

Right: allies – who was left? Arthur, taken; Gaius, maybe dead. Leon and Percival had escaped the castle, though, and perhaps other refugees from Camelot were still living, and loyal to Arthur. Gwen was here, and his mother, and the two mercenaries, Tristan and Isolde, had not yet abandoned him. Kilgharra remained his most powerful ally, albeit one he had to use with caution.

They didn't have a lot of time.

~/~/~/~

They took him straight to the throne room.

Morgana sprawled idly in his father's – _his_ – throne, unkempt and angry and as beautiful as ever. Arthur walked as upright as he could between the guards. The long ride had left his ribs burning, and he knew he must look a wreck. He met her eyes instantly across the full length of the room. She looked like a cat with a mouse pinned by the tail.

"My lady," Agravaine began, "I bring you-"

"I see that." She cut him off imperiously. Arthur smiled half-heartedly. He had missed her. She leaped gracefully to her feet and stood a few feet in front of him. "Welcome, brother."

Arthur inclined his head courteously, as though he'd met her at a feast rather than in chains on a cold morning.

"You've looked better."

"I would hope so."

"I'm sorry we could not meet on better terms. Your soldiers were less than welcoming when I arrived."

"Yours were less than courteous when they invited me back."

"So I see." She reached up and brushed a thumb against the cut on his eyebrow, dislodging flakes of dried blood. He winced, at the tenderness of the gesture more than the pain. It made his heart ache to see her so close, and abruptly he dropped the pretence.

"Why do this, Morgana? I never meant to wound you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now. She signalled abruptly, and a soldier kicked him in the back of the leg, forcing him to his knees.

"Never meant to?" she hissed down at him. "Then I have suffered greatly from your _negligence_, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur said nothing.

Morgana stalked away and stood with her back to him. She seemed to be trembling. She waved a hand at Agravaine, who picked up a document from the council table. His voice was dry and impassive. "You will publicly acknowledge Morgana Pendragon as your elder sister, and the rightful heir of the late Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot. You will confess to your crimes against the druids and magicked peoples. You will confess to treason against Queen Morgana, and formally name your accomplices in that treason, to whit: Gaius the healer, false knights Sir Elyan, Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival. Disgraced former knight Sir Leon. The serving man known as Merlin. The serving girl known as Guinevere. You will give your consent that the above named also be brought to the queen's justice at the earliest opportunity."

Arthur gave him a wry look, but stayed silent. His eyes ranged around the room. Most of those present were strangers to him: Morgana's men, or those of her southron ally. Not all, though. A few opportunists had sworn fealty to Morgana when Arthur seemed unlikely to return. Of these, some looked wretched and uncomfortable faced with their battle-scarred king. But some had already learned to look on their erstwhile ruler with scorn and derision. He calmly met their eyes, committing each face to memory. It was gratifying to see them squirm just a tiny bit under his gaze.

A boot in his ribs shattered his composure, and he collapsed forward onto his elbows with a pained cry. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself very slowly upright. His ribs were incandescent with pain.

"You will publicly acknowledge..." Agravaine began again.

"This is madness, Morgana," he croaked, ignoring his uncle.

"I _am_ your elder sister," she pointed out dryly.

"You're a girl." He shrugged. "I don't make the rules. Not to mention you're, you know, illegitimate."

She stepped closer, incensed. "Do I need to remind you of your position, brother?" she hissed. A blade was prickling the skin between his shoulder blades.

"Not at all. I do not deny your right of conquest. But you cannot hope to present your claim as rightful."

He tried to steel himself, but he knew his ribs would not endure further punishment. The ringing slap across his face came almost as a relief.

"I do not ask for your counsel, brother. You will do as I say, or you will die."

Arthur almost laughed, but his lungs prohibited it. He expected no less than death at her hand, confession or no confession. Forcing himself to keep an impassive face, he gazed up at her. "I do not doubt that I will die," he said simply.

He was unprepared for the blow which caught him in his side and sent him sprawling on the cold flagstones. He coughed and pressed his bound arms as hard as he could against his ribs. He tasted blood on his tongue.

"Take him to the cells. We will speak further, brother." Her voice was distant, but he didn't miss the threat.

~/~/~/~/~

Gwaine awoke with a shudder, and felt the harsh realities of the cold cell and his bruised body return to him in a rush. He glanced around and met Elyan's eyes. The other knight raised a finger to his lips. "They're coming," he mouthed.

The rattle of keys and the scrape of boots on stone heralded the guards' arrival. Close to the bars, Gwaine could make out three soldiers and a fourth, limp figure between them. He glimpsed pale hair and mud-spattered boots before the next cell was unlocked and the prisoner thrown in, obscured from sight by the angle of the wall. A muffled thump signalled the guards' usual measure of care and courtesy, but even Gwaine was startled by the rawness of the answering cry of pain.

Sniggering and grunting, the guards locked up and departed. Elyan shook Gaius gently by the shoulder. "They've brought someone in." The old man's eyes slid open. Gwaine sat up straighter against the bars.

"Hello?" he called uncertainly, conscious that his own voice was harsh with thirst and discomfort. "Can you hear me?"

The only answer was a quiet shuffling, as if the newcomer was moving with some difficulty.

"Hello?" Gwaine repeated.

A soft cough. Then – "Gwaine?"

Gwaine froze. That voice, and the pale hair he had glimpsed earlier made dread build up in his stomach, but he pushed it away. "Who are you?" he demanded. There was a pause before his fears were confirmed.

"Arthur."

"No..." Elyan moaned softly. Gaius' eyes fell closed again in silent defeat.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not too happy to be hearing your voice here," Gwaine volunteered.

A quiet snort of laughter. "I'm glad you're alive."

"What of Merlin? And Leon... Percival?"

"Merlin lives. The others, I don't know."

Gwaine allowed himself a tiny spark of relief – at least _one_ of his friends had found better fortune.

"And you?"

Arthur snorted again. "Alive."

Gwaine scowled in irritation. The healer's thin voice cut in abruptly. "Are you injured, Arthur?"

Arthur gasped. "Gaius..." His voice had gone hollow with emotion. "You sound terrible."

"As do you. Are you injured?" The old man's impatient voice, even as weak as it had become, was invested with an authority that Arthur had learned to respect as a mischievous child in the healer's care.

"My ribs..." he admitted.

"Broken?"

"I don't know. Probably."

Silence fell as Gaius fumed silently over his impotence to help with the wall separating them. Arthur rolled onto his back and twisted his hands in their bindings in order to gently probe his side. He noticed, to his annoyance, that his wrists were bleeding under the coarse ropes. On his left side, bruising and swelling made his flesh feel strange and uneven through his thin shirt. Gingerly, he edged his fingers closer to the epicentre of the pain. He couldn't help letting out a soft whimper.

"Arthur?" Gwaine's voice was sharp.

"A moment." He gritted his teeth and finally found the spot where an unnatural lump jutted out of him. Broken, then. He very slowly settled his fingers for a firm hold on the protruding rib, took a shaky breath and, before he could second-guess himself, pushed it in, hard.

~/~

He was aware of darkness, and voices calling his name. It took a while longer to remember where he was and what he'd just done. The pain was still vicious, but breathing was, perhaps, a little easier.

Somebody was beating frantically on the wall. "Arthur? _Arthur._"

"I am... here," he grated out.

A sigh issued from the other side of the wall.

"What happened?" he croaked.

"You screamed like a girl, and then you went quiet for three or four minutes. What did you do?"

"At least one of my ribs is broken," Arthur offered, weakly.

"Is that all?" grumbled the knight. "Princess."


	3. Chapter 3

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Three**

"How do you even know where the refugees are?" Tristan demanded.

_I asked my friend the dragon,_ Merlin thought. "It's part of our emergency plan," he said. "You know, you have to have plans in place for this sort of situation."

"For when the king is kidnapped by his long lost sister who also happens to be a witch? Exactly how often does that happen where you come from?"

Merlin ignored him. "They'll be camping in the valley, hidden from the road. Use my name to get in, and ask for Sir Leon. Tell him what happened here. Bring them to the lake, three miles north of Camelot. I will meet you there at sunset in three days."

"What are you going to do?" Isolde asked him.

"I'm going to the city. I'll look for loyal citizens who can help us from inside the walls. And I'll keep an eye on the castle – stop them killing Arthur before we're ready to topple Morgana."

"Alone? And unarmed?" Tristan looked sympathetic, but sceptical.

"Merlin..." Isolde murmured. "He may already be..."

"He isn't. I would know."

She looked at him with her eyes full of pity, but did not argue.

Merlin turned to Gwen. "You should stay here. You'll be safe here."

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," she shot back immediately, as he had known she would. She had that look that she and Morgana used to wear when Arthur told them that fighting was not for girls. Her eyes were more dangerous than he'd ever seen them.

"With me, then?" he conceded, grudgingly.

~/~/~/~/~/~

Gwaine was fully alert as soon as the guards' footsteps were heard outside. From the brief glimpse as they came through the door, Arthur seemed to be still on his feet. They shoved him back into the cell with more force than necessary, but, mercifully, they left quickly.

As soon as the door closed, Gwaine spoke. "How was the lady Morgana's hospitality today?"

A groan, from the next cell. "A pleasure, as always. They broke three of my fingers. Nothing life-threatening."

Morgana had lost interest in Gwaine since she'd had Arthur to torment. Gwaine winced in sympathy. "What does she want from you?"

"She's stalling. It's almost like she doesn't _want_ to kill me." Arthur's tone was flippant, but he hid the tension badly.

"Does she still want you to declare her as rightful queen?"

"She does. I don't understand it. I mean, I could do it, but it would mean nothing. Her parentage is a badly kept secret, but it doesn't make her Uther's heir, or even mine."

Gwaine chewed his lip. He had never taken the slightest interest in aristocratic inheritance laws, but even he could see that Morgana's claim would not be a bad one, were Arthur not still alive.

"There have been three separate attempts since I arrived here – one to assassinate Morgana, and two to break into the dungeons and rescue me." Arthur's voice was lower now, more sincere. "They showed me the bodies. Men – boys, really – I didn't even know them..."

Gwaine flinched. "You can't blame yourself for that."

Arthur sighed. "She will never be safe until I am dead," he said bluntly.

"If she kills you, she will _never_ be safe," Elyan cut in angrily. Arthur smiled wearily at the young man's bravado.

"She's waiting for something," he mused. "I just don't know what."

~/~/~/~/~/~

At nightfall, Morgana felt her wards hum with magic, and smiled. A magical presence of such strength, within Camelot's walls, could only mean one thing. Emrys.

~/~/~/~/~/~

Despite the certainty with which he had reassured first Isolde, and then, repeatedly during their journey, Gwen, Merlin dreaded arriving in Camelot to see Arthur's head on a spike over the gate. Gwen had been silent for the last few hours of their trek, but she, too, audibly relaxed when the gates came into sight.

Both of them were swathed in buckram cloaks, gifts from Ealdor peasants – with the hoods pulled forward over their faces, because both of their faces were well-known in Camelot. Merlin had even tried to grow some stubble, but only achieved an uneven fuzz which made his face look even dirtier than it actually was.

Merlin was surprised how easy it was to get inside the walls. There were a lot of soldiers around, but they weren't keeping heavy tabs on the peasant traffic going out to the villages at the end of the trading day, or even on the workers coming in from the fields. In their rough homespun cloaks, it was easy to tag onto a group of labourers, and then drop back into a shadowy alley once they'd passed through.

Merlin's hopes of chatting to the locals and gauging the mood of the town under Morgana's new regime were quickly crushed, however. The work groups were dispersed in minutes, and retreated into their houses. The lower town was quiet: many houses were empty after their inhabitants had fled during the attack. Helios' men patrolled regularly in small groups, and although lights could be seen in some houses, there were no civilians left in the street once it was fully dark. Merlin and Gwen were left exposed, scuttling from shadow to shadow, listening out for the guards' footsteps. Gwen had been in favour of hiding out in her own empty cottage, but Merlin insisted that it might be being watched. They argued in whispers, crouched behind a fletcher's workshop.

"We can't stay in the streets. It's only a matter of time until we get caught," Gwen hissed in his ear, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his neck.

"If I was Morgana, I would be expecting you. She knows how you feel about Arthur. They'll be _waiting _for you," Merlin countered.

"They're watching the whole town." Gwen glanced over her shoulder. The last patrol had passed. "Quick, let's move." They headed across the main thoroughfare and dove back into the dense tangle of little hovels and narrow walkways on the other side. The town was like a rabbit warren, and built on a steep incline which led up to the castle. Usually, it was a hive of activity in the day time, and even after dark there would be a few people out to enjoy the evening air or visit neighbours before going to sleep. The quiet was unsettling.

Footsteps broke the silence again, and they shrank back into somebody's doorway. Gwen's hand fell on a wishbone placed on the ledge next to the door. She gasped quietly and, before Merlin could stop her, spun round and knocked on the door.

"What are you _doing_?" he hissed. Too late, though – the door opened.

The door slid inwards a crack, and a beady eye appeared at elbow height. "Get out of the street, you fools," snapped a voice which sounded like a creature from the blackest of lagoons, and the door opened further to allow first Gwen and then, suspicious, Merlin. The door slammed abruptly behind him. When he turned, Gwen was being embraced by a crone so stooped that she seemed to have grown into a hoop. A bearded middle-aged man watched from the fireside, along with three hollow-eyed children.

"What are you doing here, child?" inquired the terrible, hoarse voice. "You were safer in exile. This is not a good place for you, now." There was kindness and affection, Merlin noticed, underneath the harsh sound which emitted from the aged throat.

Gwen was released at last, and took pity on her companion. "Merlin, this is Mary. She was a friend of my mother's." Merlin shook the old woman's claw politely. Her sharp eyes looked him up and down. "I've seen you. Young Arthur's partner in crime. Yes?"

Merlin rather liked 'partner in crime'. In many ways, it seemed more appropriate than 'manservant.' He decided he liked Mary after all. "That's me," he said. "Merlin."

"You won't be the first to try saving him," Mary told him suddenly. "Eight good boys she had hanged yesterday morning."

Merlin shuddered. So Arthur was indeed alive, and still attracted some loyalty – albeit ill-fated loyalty – from the townspeople. This, at least, was good news, though it made his stomach twist horribly to categorize hanged men under 'good news.' Gwen gripped his arm tightly.

Mary and her son shared their meagre food supplies with the two fugitives, telling stories of the invaders' cruelty. Merlin and Gwen listened intently. Arthur had been brought into the city in the early morning almost two days ago. "Pale as a ghost, but proud," Mary said fondly. She squeezed Gwen's hand as she spoke, and Merlin wondered how much she knew. "People felt more hopeful, knowing the king was alive, and here – but the hangings changed some people's minds. They're not traitors," she said sharply. "But one Pendragon is much like another when they're sitting on a throne and you're out in the fields. These people have to focus on keeping their own families alive."

"You might not say so if you knew all that Morgana has done," Merlin said softly.

Mary's son turned weary eyes on him as well, now. "We've heard the tales, just like you. I know he's your friend, and you don't want to see her kill him. But this city has been invaded enough times. Some of these people have had to rebuild their homes three or four times in the last five years. Even if it's under a tyrant, a lot of people would rather just have peace."

Eventually, Mary offered them blankets, and Merlin lay beside Gwen as she slept fitfully. He couldn't switch his mind off. What would it take to remind the people of Camelot that they would be far better off as Arthur's subjects than his sister's?

Still, Arthur was alive. For now, it was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Four**

At dawn, the castle bells rang loudly, startling them from troubled dreams. Merlin opened his eyes to find Gwen already on her feet.

"Something's happening."

He lurched upright and followed her into the street. What seemed like half the city were out there, herded by soldiers, moving up the steep streets to the castle. The bells used to ring for coronations, and to warn of invasion, and to announce weddings, royal births, military victories... and executions.

~/~/~/~/~

"Morgana, you need to show that you are strong, decisive..." Agravaine nagged her. She strode ahead of him, half-listening.

"What I need is to weed out my enemies. I _will_ draw Emrys into the open, Agravaine. I will trap Emrys, and _then_ I assure you, I will not hesitate to kill my brother."

She emerged onto the balcony and watched the townspeople begin pouring into the courtyard below. She wanted everyone to see this. Somewhere in the crowd, Emrys would be lurking – his appearance masked, perhaps, or hooded or disguised with magic. She was confident that the spectacle would tempt him into the open.

~/~/~/~/~

Sleep was a poor, thin comfort in the dungeons. At the first peal of the bells, all four prisoners were wide awake.

"Funny time for a wedding," Gwaine muttered, trying to stretch the stiffness out of his joints.

"Something has changed," Arthur rasped. He glared intently at the tiny window in the opposite cell, as though some clue might appear there. _Something_ had broken the stalemate and pushed Morgana into action.

The guards found Arthur already on his feet. As they ushered him toward the exit, Gaius called his name with sudden anguish. The young king looked over his shoulder. Very softly, he promised "We'll meet again, old friend."

Elyan watched Gaius shed a tear, and exchanged a glance with Gwaine. The old man's reaction startled him. The other knight frowned. "The bells," he said. "Something is different today."

~/~/~/~/~

Merlin and Gwen found a shadowy corner of the crowded courtyard, shrouded in their peasant cloaks. Gwen's trembling was so violent she seemed unable to speak. Merlin felt as cold and hollow as a statue. A few people seemed to be in a feast-day humour, giddy with anticipation. Most, though, seemed paralysed in horror.

Morgana appeared on the balcony, flanked by Helios and Agravaine. A few brave people hissed. From such a distance, Merlin could barely make out the twist of irritation in her lips, but he clearly saw her shift uncomfortably from side to side. Morgana, he had always suspected, was more of a wounded child than a subtle politician. Her last, brief reign, under Uther's imposing shadow, had been a reign of terror – lashing out against her despised father. Now, despite the horror stories feeding the gossip mill in the browbeaten city, she seemed to harbour at least some genuine desire to be a successful queen. It upset her that the populace were against her, Merlin mused. And Arthur was more difficult to hate than Uther – though he could be high-handed, arrogant and insecure, it was hard to ignore the young king's genuine, earnest instinct for justice and compassion. Morgana hadn't yet killed her brother, and that spoke of reluctance. Ever the optimist, Merlin wondered whether something might yet be salvaged from all this.

Then Arthur appeared in the square, and his forgiving sentiments for the self-styled queen faded away.

~/~/~/~/~

Arthur squinted as they pushed him into the light. Eyes turned on him from every corner of the courtyard, and he was acutely conscious that he was pale, filthy and exhausted. The courtyard was almost full, despite the city's depleted population. Clinging onto calm as a man tossed in a sea-storm might cling to a raft, he scanned the sea of faces – anxious, shocked, fearful faces. There was no gallows, no apparent chopping block, no pyre waiting for him. On a scaffold below the royal balcony, there was a whipping pole.

A shudder wracked his frame and he stopped walking. Since his capture, he had been piecing together the politics of the situation with all the logical detachment he could manage, and to a mind trained since childhood in tactics, it was quite clear that execution should be swift, and public. He had expected that, had done all he could to prepare himself. But public torture, public humiliation – this was a cruelty he had not expected from Morgana, his childhood ally.

He was shoved forwards and reluctantly picked up his pace. Every eye in the courtyard followed him. They were sympathetic eyes, mostly – the common people may not love him, but they feared Morgana, and they feared what her reign would bring them when all hope of Arthur's return had been extinguished.

~/~/~/~/~

Gwen gripped Merlin's arm with ruthless strength. Arthur was white as a ghost, his eyes red and sore, blinking owlishly in the bright sunshine. The remains of a trail of dried blood still adorned his cheek from their flight through the caves, and his wrists, bound in front of him, were raw, the ropes tacky with blood. He walked steadily, his face calm and proud and resigned, but he paused as the light hit him, and Merlin caught the instant of naked horror in his friend's eyes.

"People of Camelot!" Morgana's voice rang out like the bells. "Arthur Pendragon has been brought here for judgement and just punishment." Mutterings broke out around Merlin and Gwen, low and mutinous. Merlin squeezed Gwen's hand tightly. The mood was more partisan than he had dared to hope, but it could so easily tip the wrong way. Arthur had not blinked.

"My lord Agravaine," Morgana continued formally. "Please read the charges."

It took some time. The charges began with attempting to hide Morgana's birthright, and usurping her throne, then catalogued several of Morgana's recent grievances, chief among them the 'murder' of Morguase. There was an endless litany of crimes against druids and sorcerers, all of which had been committed on Uther's orders, and only a few of which, as far as Merlin knew, Arthur had had any hand in at all. It ended with Arthur's apparently criminal choice of friends: 'false knights' Gwaine, Percival and Elyan, 'seductress' Guinevere, 'traitor' Gaius, 'poisoner' Merlin, and finally, the treacherous, dangerous sorcerer known as Emrys. Arthur had looked almost bored as the list unfolded, but the accusation of allying himself with a sorcerer clearly caught him entirely by surprise. He laughed, involuntarily – then, Merlin's sharp eye noticed, winced and touched his ribs.

Morgana glared at her brother. "How do you answer these charges?" she demanded. Agravaine twitched in agitation, but did not speak.

This was no trial, Merlin thought. This was one of those embarrassing family arguments that happen in front of guests. Every eye in the city was on Arthur. He seemed to ponder for several seconds, until an impatient guard nudged him in the arm: "Answer your queen!"

"My queen..." Arthur whispered, trying out the sound of it. The guard made another impatient noise and Arthur raised his bound hands in submission. "Morgana, I always thought of you as my sister, but I will swear on anything you choose that I didn't know of your parentage. And I didn't know of your... talents, because _you_ didn't tell me; you didn't trust me. I don't know how I would have reacted, but you never gave me a chance _not_ to disappoint you. I..."

He faltered, self-conscious. Morgana didn't look unmoved – she looked furious. She seemed unable to speak, but glanced at Agravaine, and his pompous, officious voice cut through the spell Arthur's honesty had cast on the crowd. "You have not answered the charges."

Arthur flinched in irritation. His tone became more wry and guarded. "There were so many. Give me a moment." The guards shifted ominously, realising that he was mocking their leaders, but he quickly continued. "You mentioned some actions I regret, but I am accountable only to my conscience for them, as none of these were illegal at the time. I have not usurped the throne, nor did I kill Morguase. Some of the crimes against druids in your charges are well known in the history of Camelot. In the castle library they are in the section devoted to the 'Great Purge', a period generally considered to have finished around the time of my fourth birthday." His voice was soft and sarcastic. "I deny all charges against my friends, and I am ignorant of the 'Emrys' you spoke of. Strictly speaking, I acted illegally when I promoted the men you named to the rank of knight, but I do not regret it – and, I think, it is hardly a flogging offense."

Agravaine seemed to become more and more agitated while his nephew spoke. Merlin watched the figures on the balcony intently. Beside him, Gwen's eyes were fixed on Arthur, fierce with pride.

~/~/~/~/~

Morgana had been consumed by the fury in her stomach when Arthur presumed to call her 'sister'. The pain of her exile, the constant fear she had endured as she discovered her magical talents in the shadow of Uther and Arthur's crusade... All that she had suffered was mocked by his soft words. This brother's very birth had kicked off the campaign against her people, creating a world in which magic was outlawed, despised and vilified, into which she had grown, taught to believe that magic users were monsters and increasingly terrified that she was one such monster. And _now_ he had the gall to stand calmly before her and speak of trust and understanding.

Only the name Emrys pulled her out of her thoughts. Yes, Emrys, the vision which kept her from sleep, the dark shadow looming over her triumph. This, she remembered, was not about Arthur, after all.

"You lie, brother!" she called, her voice just a touch shriller than it had been. "But it matters not. Bind him."

~/~/~/~/~

A cacophony of protest broke out in the square as a startled Arthur was dragged toward the pole. He dug his heels in instinctively, wriggling and pushing against the hands that held him, but in vain – he was weak and outnumbered, and his hands were tied.

When they finally wrestled him close enough, the guards yanked on the rope around Arthur's wrists and secured it to a hook, lifting his hands above his head far enough that he was obliged to stand flush against the pole. He hugged the rough wood with his elbows and lifted his head to glance around in panic. A guard cut through the back of Arthur's ragged shirt with his dagger. The young king squirmed when his back was bared to the chilly air, and some of the closest witnesses gasped at the bruising on his side.

"I know that Emrys is here. Reveal yourself, and spare your precious king some suffering."

Merlin felt like a fist clenched around his stomach. His masquerade had truly come back to haunt him now – much as he had used it to haunt Morgana. The plan he had agreed with Tristan – which Tristan, by now, would have passed on to Leon and his refugee army – would be ruined if Merlin rose to this. Only a fool would act now, with crossbows on every rampart ready to defend Morgana. Their brief was to make sure Arthur wasn't killed, because if he was dead it would all be in vain, but Merlin was sure his friend could survive this. But – even from across the square, he could see Arthur trembling. He could, probably, make some excuse, give Gwen the slip, cast the aging spell and turn himself in to Morgana. But it wouldn't stop her killing Arthur, necessarily, and where would they be once he, too, was at her mercy?

He realised he was gripping Gwen's hand so hard his knuckles were white. She didn't seem to have noticed.

~/~/~/~/~

Agravaine plucked urgently at Morgana's sleeve, keeping an eye on the courtyard below, which was seething with anticipation.

"Morgana, this is madness. You must stop it, before it is too late," he hissed.

There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was resolute. "It was your counsel to act now, and to declare myself Uther's heir."

"My counsel was to read the charges and have his head off, before he could become too powerful a martyr. _Not_ to let him whip up the people with his soft words and then enrage them by splashing his pretty red blood around."

"I have heard it!" she snapped, trying to turn away. He yanked on her sleeve.

"You will not be safe as queen while he lives!"

"Nor while _Emrys_ lives," she insisted.

"What is this, Morgana? What shade is it that haunts you?" he snarled in exasperation.

She sneered back. "He will come for Arthur. I am sure of it." She yanked again on her sleeve, and, failing to dislodge his grip, lashed out with a burst of magic, propelling him away from her with such force that he collided hard with the wall.

She turned back to the courtyard.

"Begin."


	5. Chapter 5

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Five**

The city held its breath.

Merlin was paralysed with indecision. He knew it would be foolish and catastrophic to act now. But the less rational part of him was just watching Arthur press his forehead against the pole. That part was struggling to hear anything apart from Gwen's litany of horror: "My god, we must stop this. Merlin, we have to stop them, oh, my god..."

The whip cracked. Arthur flinched with his whole body, but he had no room to move. If he made any sound, Merlin was too far away to hear it. Gwen lapsed into silence, her lips still moving, but every other muscle frozen. The crowd were still quiet, but quivered with tension. The pragmatic fatalism that Mary had bluntly put to Merlin the night before was all but gone as a whole city pinned its griefs to the vulnerable body of its king.

The second strike drew blood. It didn't appear instantly and as though in slow motion Merlin saw beads of blood well up in the whip's wake, and tiny trickles run down Arthur's back.

The third strike made Arthur cry out like a wounded animal. Mutterings in the crowd were building, and some witnesses were turning to their neighbours to murmur something. Morgana, standing on her balcony, was attracting the odd mutinous glance and shaking fist.

The fourth strike doubled the amount of blood on the king's back, and a few flecks of scarlet flew from the cord as it flailed up again. Arthur's knees buckled suddenly and he dropped a few inches until he hung by the wrists. As he scrabbled to get his feet under him again, the fifth stroke fell, and he screamed.

Gwen bolted forwards, and Merlin caught her by wrapping both arms around her. The crowd was anything but quiet now, and despite the soldiers standing at the foot of the scaffold, the multitude had begun to push forward.

At the sixth strike, the end of the cord wrapped around Arthur's shoulder, leaving a cut which trailed blood down his chest as well as his back. He was trembling violently, breathing through his teeth.

It was difficult to tell what happened first, but suddenly a stone flew past Morgana's face and shattered a window near her head, and around the same time a voice near the back yelled "Long live King Arthur!"

Merlin looked around for the source of the voice, but soon the cry was taken up by others and a general surge forward shoved him and Gwen into the backs of the people in front. A few more missiles flew – cobblestones wrenched from the ground, horse manure and whatever people had to hand. Morgana stumbled back, hissing in fury, as something struck her on the shoulder. The whip cracked again but Merlin couldn't see the damage, he was too preoccupied with pulling Gwen to her feet before she was trampled. The noise was deafening. Words of protest were lost in the general roar. Merlin stood on tiptoe, trying to see Arthur – the missiles flying towards Morgana's balcony would hit the scaffold if they fell short, and the crowd was losing all semblance of control. The soldiers at the front were preoccupied with pushing against the surging crowd.

"Come on!" Merlin yelled, pulling Gwen by the wrist and plunging forward into the seething mass. He shoved people out of the way with his shoulder and elbow, ignoring the shouts of protest. He couldn't hear the whip any more, but the noise was so overpowering, it could have been drowned out. Somebody clutched at the hem of Gwen's dress and she half-turned, but Merlin pulled her remorselessly onwards.

Suddenly he tripped over a man crouching to prise stones out of the ground with his knife. Merlin went flying into another man's back and lost his grip on Gwen. The man elbowed him hard in the belly and Merlin coughed, drunkenly pulling himself upright on the stranger's cloak.

"Merlin!" Gwen screamed behind him. He searched for her, but more people had rushed forwards to fill the gap, and he couldn't find her in the press of bodies. Somewhere ahead of him, a crow of victory came from a civilian who'd managed to slit a soldier's throat. Screams answered it, as the crossbowmen on the balcony fired at random into the crowd.

The torturer had fled. Morgana, too, was missing from her balcony. A man in front of Merlin pitched suddenly backwards into his arms, and the young man realised in horror that there was a crossbow bolt in his throat. Merlin shoved the body aside and moved forward. Somebody was pulling on his cloak, and he gagged as the fastening pressed against his throat, and quickly pulled the cloak off, letting the crowd pull it away. Raindrops fell, one or two splashes quickly thickening into a downpour. Merlin's hair fell, soaked, into his eyes. His feet slipped as the ground turned swiftly to mud, churned by urgent feet.

There was fighting at the front. Furious people were hurling themselves upon Morgana's soldier armed with rocks and their bare hands. Bodies were beginning to stack up. Merlin felt sick. There was blood on his face and he didn't know if it was his own.

At last he got a clear view of Arthur, now alone on the scaffold but unprotected from the cobblestones which were still flying. Merlin took advantage of the general confusion to conjure an invisible dome to shelter the slumped figure of the king from the riot's crossfire.

Merlin found an opening at last and darted past a soldier who was engaged in a grappling battle with a hammer-wielding blacksmith. He pulled himself up onto the platform. Rain had spread the blood out across Arthur's skin, running in pink lines down his spine. Water dripped from his hair. Close up, he looked even worse. Merlin noticed that several fingers on one hand were bruised and crooked. He was reluctant to touch him.

"Arthur?" he croaked. "Are you... can you hear me?"

Arthur moaned and stirred.

"What's happening?" he whispered, without lifting his head.

"You caused a riot," Merlin told him.

"_I_ caused..." Arthur's voice was thin, but Merlin smiled at the note of indignance.

"I'm going to try and get you out of here, before this gets any uglier." Arthur seemed startled by this, and finally lifted his head to stare at Merlin through his own rain-soaked fringe. His lips were pinched with pain. "Merlin?" he said, as if he's only just realised who he was talking to. "Oh, for God's sake..." he added, vaguely exasperated.

Merlin nodded distractedly, blinking raindrops from his eyes. "Who else?" He reached out for Arthur's bound hands. The king's fingers twitched nervously. A crossbow bolt shattered against the protective dome he had conjured, and Merlin spun round in shock as he felt the vibration shake him.

"Merlin – we have to stop this." Merlin was rocked by surprise again, hearing Arthur echo the words Gwen had been repeating only a short while earlier. Arthur was more lucid than he'd thought, and was gazing at the devastation surrounding them in hollow-eyed despair.

The thought of Gwen brought Merlin a pang of guilt – he had had no time to search for her between negotiating the general chaos and fighting his way to Arthur's side. He hoped fervently that he would not have to tell Arthur that he'd lost his former fiancée.

Merlin pulled a knife from the belt of an unconscious soldier and stood close to Arthur to reach up and get to the ropes. He could feel the king trembling, and was surprised at how cold his skin was. Unlike the blood on Arthur's back, the blood on his wrists was old, and it had stuck the ropes to the welts in his skin. Arthur groaned as Merlin peeled them away, and as soon as they were no longer taking his weight he slumped, despite his efforts to plant his feet securely and stand up straight. Merlin caught him, slightly uncomfortable with the intimacy of wrapping both arms round the shirtless king and crushing him to his chest. Arthur wriggled, clearly sharing his sentiment.

"Get off me," he mumbled, without any real ire. He clumsily got one arm around Merlin's shoulders and straightened.

Though it had been somewhat muted to their ears by Merlin's protective enchantment, the riot was still in full swing when they turned around. In one corner, where the soldiers had been forced back, the crowd had begun to stack up crates and debris with the aim of climbing to Morgana's balcony. Others were battering against the heavy studded castle doors, though the fortress' design made this position particularly vulnerable to the crossbowmen on the ramparts. A few, wounded or frightened, had begun to flee into the town, and others had taken shelter under upturned carts. Fighting remained fiercest at the foot of the scaffold, and Merlin's actions had not gone unnoticed by either soldiers or civilians, though nobody so far had managed to extract themselves from the battle to approach them.

Into the confusion came a ball of fire, bright and hot, hovering at the centre of the courtyard and expanding with a roar, sending people scattering in all directions. Merlin took a step back when he felt the heat on his face, dragging Arthur with him.

"Stop!" Morgana's voice rang out from above them. "Stop this now, or _everyone dies_." The threat was extravagant, but by no means idle – Merlin could feel the staggering power in the air. The general movement towards escape intensified. Several people threw down their weapons in fright at this new unconquerable, inexplicable enemy.

"Go now," Arthur hissed fiercely in Merlin's ear, struggling to pull away from Merlin's supporting arms. "Get out of here. For God's sake, don't get arrested."

Merlin protested, and Arthur pushed him with surprising force. "Don't be stupid, this is not the time."

Merlin remembered the plan he'd had before the world went insane. "Leon's alive," he said urgently. "There are hundreds, maybe thousands, hiding out in the woods. I'll come back..."

Arthur nodded gratefully, understanding. "You'd better." Arthur stumbled back, bracing one arm against the pole to stay upright. The guards were dispelling the last and bravest rioters in the yellow light of Morgana's fireball. The rain on their faces glinted strangely.

"Merlin!" Arthur called softly. Merlin paused. "Gaius is alive. Gwaine, and Elyan too." Merlin waited, giving his friend a questioning look, but Arthur dismissed him with an urgent gesture. Merlin fled. Arthur slumped to the ground. He was unconscious before the guards reached him.

~/~/~/~/~

After the bells had stopped, there had been a long silence, and then a gradual build towards the sort of cacophony that Gwaine recognised from battles. And finally, silence returned. Nobody spoke.

The door, at last, opened as usual. With a thump, the guards dropped their burden into the cell and turned to leave.

"What happened?" Gwaine called after them as they marched away. "Hey, what _happened_?"

The door slammed. There was nothing but silence from Arthur's cell.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Six**

Merlin ran to Mary's house without stopping. The streets were emptying as rapidly as they had done at curfew the night before, but the town hummed with fearful tension.

Mary opened the door by a finger's width at his knock and glared suspiciously out into the rain. She admitted him without comment. Inside, their meagre possessions had been bundled up, and William and the children were packing the last of their food into a burlap sack. Gwen was not there.

"You're leaving?" Merlin gawped moronically.

"We won't be safe here much longer," William said gruffly, not looking up.

Merlin blinked. "There are people hiding in the forest. The knights will come here, soon."

"There's more fighting coming," croaked Mary, "and your shining heroes will not arrive in time to prevent the queen taking revenge for what happened today. Not in time to save your precious king, either, I would expect." Mary's tone contained no trace of apology now. "I wish you no ill, Merlin – take an old woman's advice and run now. _You_ may live to see the world put to rights again, but I doubt that I will. Go home to your peasant mother and forget that you were ever friends with a king."

Merlin gaped at her, then turned and left the house without speaking.

The rain had eased to a fine drizzle, and the streets were quiet. He headed towards the castle, glancing to right and left in some panic, looking for some hint of Gwen. He needed to be at the lake by nightfall, but for now walking away from the city would feel horribly like taking Mary's nihilistic advice. _Forget that you were ever friends with a king..._

What sort of a friend had he been? A friend who led him into a trap, let him turn himself in, stood and watched him tortured, and then come within inches of saving him only to abandon him again... It was a catalogue of failures. However much he reproached himself, though, he knew Arthur would forgive him for all that. Losing Guinevere in the riot, though? Arthur would have his head...

Dread gnawed at his insides. She was tough, he knew, and she had more common sense than he did, but the situation in the courtyard had been desperate. Not to mention, since Arthur's capture she'd been distracted with worry, and he suspected her of doing something brave and reckless.

~/~/~/~/~

For a long time, Gwaine had repeated Arthur's name; then he had moved on to abusing him in colourful language to get a rise out of the silent king, until Gaius had finally snapped at him. When he lapsed back into silence, his mood was black. He was furious with his own impotence, stuck here in a cell while momentous things were happening.

~/~/~/~/~

Arthur found himself lying on his belly, his hands loose at last and lying bonelessly on either side of his head. He remembered Merlin's brief, mad appearance – cutting him loose and promising rescue before, for once, following Arthur's orders and running off. The whole episode was hazy and ludicrous, like a dream. But Leon was alive, with other refugees from Camelot. Merlin was still alive. And, Arthur considered, he himself was still alive, which he had not expected. The dirty straw and cold stone under his face and hands told him he was back in the dungeon. He considered moving. For now, his body seemed to have forgotten that it was half-shredded. But he needed to be sure that he could move.

He gathered his strength and rolled onto his side. His back flared back to life fiercely enough to put him out again, but he blinked back the nausea and breathed out slowly. Oh, definitely he was alive. He wasn't sure, any more, that he felt that was entirely a good thing.

He curled his legs in front of him and laboriously rolled to his knees, bracing the heels of his hands against the floor. Now that his wrists were no longer bound, the pain of broken fingers was making itself known, a dull throb to accompany the symphony of agony in his back. He decided against trying to stand, and instead leaned one shoulder very gingerly against the wall. He was breathing in harsh pants, and he noticed that his hands were trembling. It occurred to him that he was dangerously cold.

He tried to speak, once the room stopped swaying, but there was no strength in his voice. He coughed and tried again. "Gwaine?" His throat was so raw his voice sounded like that of a man four times his age, but at least the word was recognisable. He heard a grunt from the other side of the wall.

"Arthur? Damn, we thought they'd killed you."

Arthur considered. "How long...?"

"Three or four hours, maybe, since they brought you back. You were only gone for a couple of hours. We heard a battle. What happened?"

Three or four hours was long enough for Merlin to reach the forest. How far in would Leon's camp be? Some distance, surely. Leon was no fool, and would have hidden his followers well. How long would it take them to produce a viable plan and return? Merlin could be hot-headed, like Arthur himself, but Leon was a good tactician. Arthur shuddered suddenly. What if, next time Morgana showed him a row of corpses with a smile on her lips, it was Merlin, Leon, Percival... Guinevere? Had he given Merlin his consent to a doomed rescue mission?

"Arthur? Are you still with us?" Gwaine's voice was sharp.

"I... am. There was... a riot. In the square."

"A riot against Morgana?" Gwaine asked softly.

"Yes." Arthur closed his eyes as nausea made his vision waver. It was getting hard to concentrate again. "Morgana stopped it. With magic." There was something else he needed to tell them, but he had to pause for breath, pressing his forehead against the wall. "Merlin was there. He says more are coming. He says he's coming back." Arthur was faintly aware that his voice was pathetic with foolish hope.

"Where did you see Merlin, Arthur?" Their voices were much gentler now, as though they suspected that he was delirious.

"In... in the square. The castle courtyard."

"What did he say to you?"

"He..." Arthur struggled to remember. Perhaps he _had_ hallucinated Merlin? "He said Leon is alive. With others. In the woods..." Arthur faltered into silence. He was looking at his left hand, and thinking miserably about how the bones would need setting.

"Arthur, listen to me. I need you to tell me what happened to you," Gaius said, reasonably. Arthur decided he didn't understand the question, and he couldn't be bothered to ask for an explanation, and it hurt to speak anyway. He stared woozily at the cracks in the wall, wiggling like spiders. "Arthur!" somebody demanded. He felt annoyed for a moment, and then decided he lacked the energy to be annoyed. He was the king, after all, and he would go to sleep if he wanted to. He opened his mouth to tell them so, and got as far as "Gmuh..." before he slumped sideways and crashed to the floor hard enough to make his bones rattle.

~/~/~/~/~

Gwaine met Elyan's eyes and frowned. Arthur's disjointed tale provoked more questions than it answered, the most pertinent being what the hell was wrong with him. The man who'd announced that three of his fingers were broken as dispassionately as if he were commenting on the weather suddenly seemed barely coherent. Not to mention the four-hour nap he'd taken in the middle of the day. And now, yet again, he was ignoring all attempts to speak to him. Something was very wrong indeed.

~/~/~/~/~

Guinevere limped through the drizzle, clutching a tiny packet to her chest. It had been risky, going back to her house, but in the wake of the riot, nobody had been watching a lone woman's movements in the lower town. There was some activity now, as a few more townspeople tried to get outside the walls before the gates could be properly garrisoned. The city was shivering in anticipation of Morgana's retribution. It had been a long, agonizing wait, crouched in the cottage entrance waiting for the streets to clear. Her limbs felt stiff and bruised from the tension which felt like it would never leave her body.

Gwen ignored everyone, walking in the opposite direction. Nobody tried to stop her.

After Merlin's grip slipped from her wrist she had stumbled towards one wall, frightened by the force of the crowd. Somebody had kicked her hard in the knee as she tried to move against the flow, and she'd gone down. For a terrible moment she expected to be trampled into the dust, and then some distraction had cleared a path to a cart and she'd crawled underneath. Another woman and two small children were huddling there, and the woman placed a shaky finger to her lips when she saw Gwen.

She hadn't really been able to see what was going on from her hiding place, but she had gazed out at the confusion of legs and howling and rain. It wasn't until the sudden intervention of Morgana's fearsome magic that she'd caught sight of Merlin and Arthur, and a rush of hope had filled her upon finding them together. Only moments later, she was disappointed and furious to see Merlin fleeing alone. She searched for Arthur, but escaping rioters and the glare of the fire in the rain obstructed her vision for a few seconds, and when she found him he was being half-carried, half-dragged out of sight by a couple of battered guards. Her heart had sunk.

It had taken only moments to remember the time she sprung Sir Leon from Camelot's dungeons during Morgana's brief first reign. The imprint of the key was still in her house, under the floorboards. And the tiny barred window, at ground level in the town square – that hadn't gone anywhere either.

And now she could see the grill, low enough to look more like a drain than a window. She unwrapped the little bundle in her hands and sat down with her back against the wall, pulling her the many destitute women who used to beg on this square. Arthur's relaxation of various taxes and laws had reduced their number, and Morgana's martial law seemed to be keeping the streets subdued for the present. Today, unsurprisingly, there was nobody here but Gwen.

~/~/~/~/~

Gwaine yelped in indignation when something heavy fell from above and clipped him on the ear. "What the bloody hell...?"

He found the key on the floor beside him, and looked up at the window, so small it seemed to emphasise the gloom in the cell rather than relieving it. Now, it was partially obscured by a cloak.

"Who's there?" he hissed.

Elyan glanced at him questioningly. Gwaine staggered to his feet and craned his neck up at the window.

"Guinevere."

The last person he would have expected.

"My lady!" he greeted her.

"Who – _Gwaine?_ Sorry, _Sir_ Gwaine..."

"Are you well, my lady?"

"Don't call me lady, you rogue. I am... unhurt. Is Arthur with you?"

The knights exchanged glances. "He is here, but in the next cell. We cannot see him. He's not... making a lot of sense," Elyan explained to his sister. She gasped softly, recognising him.

"Elyan? I am glad to hear your voice." She faltered. "Arthur is wounded. Morgana..." she pressed on, her voice cracking. "Morgana had him flogged this morning."

Gwaine swallowed, hard. That explained a lot. He had only seen one or two men flogged in his life, but the sight was difficult to forget. He was surprised they'd got as much sense from the king as they had.

"You have the key?" Gwen asked at length.

Gwaine picked it up, rubbing the side of his head ironically.

"It will open the inner doors. The outer door is barred on the outside, so you must wait for the guards to come."

"Thank you..." Gwaine began.

"Wait – this is important. The guards come at dawn, and nightfall?"

"Yes. And at whatever time Morgana tires of tormenting her brother."

Gwen made a soft, distressed noise, and then pushed on, determinedly. "Do nothing tonight. I must go now, to meet with Merlin, Leon and the others. The attack will come at dawn. It will help if you can open the gates from the inside."

Gwaine gaped. "So it's true – Arthur _did_ see Merlin in the courtyard?"

"Merlin spoke with him," Gwen said. She still wasn't sure what to think of Merlin's actions.

"He told us there was a riot."

"That's true. It was terrible," she paused, tense. "I must go. Good luck."

"Be careful, my lady!" Gwaine called. Elyan kissed his fingers and held them out towards the window in farewell.

Gwaine stroked the key. It was galling to have to delay action until morning, now that he held the key in his hands. At least, however, if they could open the inner doors, they would be able to finally check on the state of the silent king.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Seven**

Merlin was about to turn off the road onto the overgrown path leading to the lake when a soft, female voice behind him said, "Stand and deliver. Your money or your life."

Merlin spun round. "Gwen!" he yelled happily. Then he scowled. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I could ask _you_ the same question," she replied primly.

"Looking for you! I thought you'd been trampled in the riot! Why didn't you go back to Mary's house?"

She told him briefly about the key, the window, Gwaine and Elyan and her plan to breach the castle's defences from within.

"Really? You did all that on your own?" Merlin demanded, incredulous. Gwen looked offended.

"Well, what was _your_ plan, precisely? 'We'll all go to the castle and _somehow_ it'll all be alright?' _Somebody_ had to come up with something. But, since you mention it... I kind of made it up as I went along," she finished, blushing.

Merlin was impressed, despite himself. "Maybe you should do it more often. Remind me to tell Arthur."

Gwen smiled weakly, but blanched a bit at the name. "Did you... speak to him, Merlin? Was he..."

"He was bossy, noble and annoying. Like usual," Merlin said bracingly. Gwen looked close to tears.

"He was unconscious when I spoke to Gwaine," she said very quietly.

Merlin put a hand on her shoulder. "He needs to rest. He'll be alright." He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt.

Gwen chewed her lip, shaking her head. "You – you should not have left him like that, Merlin."

Merlin was startled. He gaped.

"I know," she interrupted, before he could protest. "I know you didn't have a choice, I know there was nothing you could have done. I know... I just... wish he wasn't alone. We just – keep – abandoning him." Her voice, which had been so steady, at last broke. "He's not as strong as people think."

Tentatively, Merlin reached for her, and she pushed him away half-heartedly before yielding and sobbing into his shoulder.

"I've seen him in danger _so many_ times. And there was always some last-minute miracle to come to the rescue. It was all so _lucky_, and _unlikely._ I should have known that one day, that eleventh-hour stroke of luck would fail."

Merlin's intestines seized so violently that they seemed to be strangling his stomach. That was it, after all. He wasn't the man who could lead the avenging army and save the kingdom. He had always been Arthur's eleventh-hour stroke of luck, and now he had, finally, failed.

"You're right," he said abruptly. "I'm going back."

"What?"

"You're right. So I'm going back."

"No, I _heard_ you, but, Merlin..."

"You're the military strategist here, Gwen," he said, with a smile. She shuffled her feet. "You can find Leon, Tristan and the others. Tell them your plan, and bring them all back to Camelot. I'll see you there."

"And what are you going to do, exactly?" she said sceptically.

"Well," he replied. "I think I'll start with an apology."

~/~/~/~/~

Reluctantly, Gwaine waited until after the guards had completed their nightfall checks, as Elyan pointed out that it would be disastrous if they found him in the wrong cell. It was almost full dark when they finally came, left stale bread and a pitcher of water, and stomped off. Before their footsteps had faded, Gwaine had both arms through the bars, holding the key Guinevere had nearly brained him with. It took him several seconds of fidgeting and cursing to get the door open. When he finally managed it, he crowed softly in victory and scurried out of sight. Elyan followed more slowly.

Arthur was lying on his side, facing the wall, his legs curled awkwardly and one arm crushed beneath his body. He wore only trousers and boots, though the torn remains of his shirt were on the floor near him. His back was a mess of welts, cuts and bruises, smeared with dried blood; fresh blood still gleaming in one or two gashes. He was as still as a corpse.

At length, Gwaine gathered his wits and unlocked the door (he'd have a word with the king another day about the wisdom of duplicate locks.) "Elyan... wake Gaius? And bring the water in here," he whispered.

He knelt next to Arthur and wondered where he could touch him without causing pain. He settled for part of his shoulder which looked more or less intact. His skin was _freezing_.

"Arthur?" he tried, to no response. He shook him gently, grimacing at the way his skin looked, close up. Arthur groaned quietly and shifted as though to turn onto his back. Gwaine tightened his grip in alarm, holding him in place. "Don't do that; that isn't a good idea."

Arthur blinked slowly. "Gwaine? How did you...? Never mind. Help me sit up, then."

Gwaine considered refusing, but then conceded that it didn't look pleasant to have one's nose crushed into the filthy straw. Surely the fact that Arthur _wanted_ to sit up could only be a good thing.

Gwaine shifted, taking hold of both Arthur's shoulders because he didn't want to touch his back.

"You neglected to mention that this riot was a result of you being publicly shredded, then?" he said, conversationally. "It's odd; I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that."

"I've been trying to forget that part," Arthur growled, heaving himself off the floor. "How long was I out this time?"

"Two or three hours? You fell asleep while we were in the middle of a chat. I thought you were raised with better manners than that."

Arthur snorted.

"Guinevere was here," Gwaine added casually. "She dropped a key on my head."

"Guinevere was _here_?" Arthur repeated, with a mixture of horror and fierce pride.

Hesitant footsteps made Gwaine turn his head as he gingerly supported Arthur's weight. Gaius was looking horribly frail, leaning heavily on Elyan's arm, and yet a kind of grim resolution in his eyes made his face look more animated than it had in some time. Arthur steepled his knees and rested his arms on them, trying to relax the spasming muscles in his back. He had a hint of the guilty child in his expression when he looked up at Gaius, and the healer answered it, appropriately enough, with a sigh of long-suffering exasperation.

It took a while to work out the logistics of the situation. Eventually, Gwaine fetched a chair from outside the cell, and the old man sat and watched attentively, supervising Elyan as he washed Arthur's wounds, and muttering constantly about the various medical supplies that he did not currently have access to. When that was done, he tortuously bent his old knees to inspect the damage himself, tutting ferociously and fetching breath with some difficulty. He eventually conceded that the wounds were not deep, the blood-loss not catastrophic, but the bruising was severe. His real concern was the chill in the king's skin, and the trembling that he seemed unable to still. Fever had not yet set in, but surely could not be long in coming.

Arthur stayed fairly quiet through the whole process, his tired mind slowly catching up to events. He focused his energy on breathing as slowly and evenly as possible. "Guinevere," he said at last, looking at Gwaine. "Was she... well?"

"She was magnificent. And my head is fine, now, since you didn't ask."

Arthur smiled wearily. "I told them both to stay away from here. Guinevere and Merlin. _Rank_ insubordination."

"With all due respect, your highness, nobody pays much attention to your orders around here. They've all got your best interests at heart, though."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and flicked his eyes towards the ceiling. Somewhere above them, his sister was presumably still plotting his death.

"Yeah," Gwaine conceded. "There might be the odd exception to that."

When he had finally satisfied himself that Arthur's wounds were clean and not in need of stitching, Gaius pulled the king's left hand unceremoniously toward him. "I'm going to straighten these fingers, sire," he croaked. "If I don't they will not move properly again. They'll heal crooked."

Arthur nodded apprehensively. "I know."

"Without any herbs or potions... it will hurt badly. Gwaine, Elyan – you may need to hold him still."

Arthur nodded again and gritted his teeth. Gwaine knelt in front of him and held his feet in place, and Elyan held his left arm at shoulder and elbow. His hand rested in Gaius' lap. The old physician worked as quickly and accurately as he could, pulling hard on the abused fingers and forcing the bones back into alignment. When the two knights released Arthur he was panting as though he'd run a marathon, and his face was the grey of the castle's pale walls. Without warning he retched to one side, though there was nothing in his stomach to expel. When his guts stopped rebelling he finally slumped, shaking.

Gaius bound his hand carefully with the remains of Arthur's shirt.

The four men sat awake together for most of the night, talking little, while outside, the rain started again.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**(8)**

Gwen shivered as she walked through the woods. As the shadows lengthened, the natural sounds of birds and wind rustling the branches became muted. Even her own footsteps seemed to retreat from her, and she growled to herself, not for the first time, about getting involved with men who caused her life to be terrifying and dangerous so much of the time.

She was really starting to frighten herself by the time the lake glinted ahead of her. Before she could get any closer, a sudden noise heralded the arrival of a knight, leaping into her path. She shrieked in alarm, and he, in turn, yelped at the loud noise. They stared at each other for a few seconds, waiting for their heart rates to steady.

"Lady Guinevere!" he gasped, with a clumsy bow.

"Sir Percival," she responded, "and _don't _call me lady."

He ignored the reprimand, as all the knights always did. She suspected Arthur of putting them up to it.

"We were expecting Merlin," he said, by way of apology.

"Merlin is at the castle. He's... got a plan, I hope. So I'm here."

"You are most welcome." If he felt any doubt about Guinevere's usefulness as a substitute, he was good at hiding it. He offered his arm as though they were at a feast-day dance, and led her into the undergrowth. After a short walk a hoarse voice halted them.

"Who goes there?"

"Percival," called Percival, "and the lady Guinevere."

"My lady!" cried the other knight gallantly. Gwen scowled. The camp materialised around them, cleverly hidden among the rocks and trees. There were familiar faces everywhere, more than she had dared to hope for, and finally, beside a central fire already glowing brightly in the dying light, Sir Leon, looking weary and haggard, and with him, Tristan and Isolde. They greeted her warmly, and she apologised again for Merlin's absence. The two mercenaries looked better rested than when she had last seen them, but perhaps somewhat ill-at-ease surrounded by knights and fervent, idealistic loyalty.

Sir Leon took Gwen's hand between both of his.

"Tell us what has happened in Camelot. Some more joined us today, with disturbing tales," Leon said darkly.

She nodded, and haltingly repeated the events of that morning. Arthur's words at the trumped-up trial, the horrible torture that followed, the chaos of the riot and the formidable magic that had finally silenced it. Her voice strengthened and she looked Leon dead in the eye when she spoke of the key, and the instructions she had given Gwaine and Elyan. Just like Merlin, his face took on a gormless male expression of stupefied amazement.

"Well," she said defensively, for the second time that evening, "did _you_ have a plan?"

"Well, yes," said Leon. "We weren't going to let Merlin plan storming the castle. He's a good lad, but, you know..."

Gwen felt a little disappointed.

~/~/~/~/~

After the riot, Morgana had retreated to her rooms and barred the doors. Agravaine had nagged her for hours through the heavy wood, until she conjured two tiny serpents to slither underneath and snap at his heels, and he stalked away.

As the afternoon wore into evening, she stood brooding at the window, glowering out at the roofs of the city. Her shoulder was bruised where a stone had struck it, and her hands shook treacherously whenever she tried to do anything.

Knowing that Uther and Arthur hated her for her magic had made it easy to hate them, but the city's wrath that morning had made her whole crusade feel black and hollow. What relief could she have from the grief of a lifetime through ruling a city that hated her, that simpered over Arthur like a child over a wounded puppy. What joy could she ever have from ruling these people? It would be better to raze everything – the castle, the town, everyone in it – to burn it all and put it behind her.

But Emrys would never let her escape. She would never be able to run far enough, or fast enough. Every time she blinked, he would be there on the backs of her eyelids, every day until she beheld his corpse.

And how could she ensnare him – if he would not be tempted out of hiding by torturing Arthur, she had no leverage on him. Unless, of course, he had somehow caused that morning's riot, some sort of chaos-stirring spell. The thought made her head spin.

Suddenly overwhelmed with nausea, she sat heavily on a carved wooden chair and closed her eyes, breathing carefully to quell her panic. She opened her eyes and shrieked – Emrys stood against the opposite wall. She shook her head to dispel the vision and glared into the half-light. He was still there.

"Hello Morgana," he said.

She shot to her feet and threw a ball of yellow fire at him, but it winked out against the shield he cast between them.

"How did you get in here?" she spat.

He ignored her. She stared at him until she started to feel light-headed, then sat down again. A wave of defeat crashed through her.

"Have you come here to kill me?" she whispered.

His ancient eyes looked thoughtful. "I've thought about it," he admitted, cryptically.

She glowered at him, watching him minutely for any threatening movement. He stared back.

"I can still imagine a world in which we are not enemies, Morgana," he told her finally, with unfathomable weariness.

She rose, incensed. "It is you, not I, who has chosen to fight against your own people, sorcerer. I would have our kind restored to our proper place –"

"As equals?"

"As rulers!"

"We are not made to rule – you or I, or the druids, none of us. It would be too much power. Look at what you have become..."

She stepped forward, spitting with rage, sparks sputtering at her fingertips. "And yet you did not come to his rescue today, when I had my brother flogged before the eyes of all Camelot! For all your fine sentiments, you would see your king tortured and bleeding rather than come out of the shadows! Even now you cower behind your tricks while he bleeds all over his own dungeon floor!"

He flinched as though the words pained him.

She hurled sparks at his shield and watched it flicker, feeling her advantage like a sudden, unexpected warmth.

"You flatter yourself if you believe that my noble brother would have thanked you, if you had stepped up to defend him. You are content to aid him from the shadows, but you and I both know he would have you hanged if he knew of it. Why do you put your faith in a man so prejudiced, so stupid and cruel, so _weak_?"

Anger flared in his eyes and he shuddered. She lashed out again and the shield winked out; Emrys parried hastily and narrowly avoided being singed.

"You're wrong," he rasped.

"You know that I am not. It's not too late to switch sides."

He smiled sadly. "I came here to say those exact words to you. But I think we are both wrong. It's far too late to switch sides."

~/~/~/~/~

When the slice of sky visible through the narrow window began to turn pale, Elyan helped Gaius back to the cot in the larger cell, and Gwaine clasped Arthur's good hand briefly before leaving him alone, hunched awkwardly sideways to keep his back away from the wall.

The guards came punctually at their appointed hour, bringing no food this time, but to Arthur's relief providing him with a ragged shirt. The cloth was too heavy and coarse against his wounds, making him grit his teeth in pain, and did little to relieve the chill by now bone-deep in his shivering limbs, but at least allowed him to feel less vulnerable and exposed. They also carried a set of heavy handcuffs. Arthur submitted mildly to the manacles, waiting impatiently for the guards to leave.

As they turned their backs, Arthur saw Gwaine wink at him from the shadows. In a few seconds of chaos, Gwaine and Elyan were standing over two unconscious guards, frisking them for weapons and stripping them of breastplates, cloaks and helmets. Gwaine scowled in displeasure as he dressed himself in Helios' livery. He caught Arthur's eye once he was fully dressed.

"Don't tell me: I look ridiculous."

"No more than usual," Arthur told him wryly.

"That's your own colours you're criticising now, princess, so the joke's on you really," Gwaine argued, still plucking distractedly at the ill-fitting armour.

"Are you ready?" Elyan demanded, exasperated. Gwaine grinned and drew himself up to his full height.

"Wish us luck?"

Arthur smiled crookedy. "Have fun," he said.

~/~/~/~/~

Gwaine and Elyan ghosted through the familiar corridors, clutching their stolen swords. The castle was just beginning to stir, and the servants scuttling up and down seemed too preoccupied to notice the gaunt, grubby faces peering out from their visors.

Their feet carried them automatically toward the gates, remembering patrols they had been on legitimately before Camelot's most recent regime change.

When the heavy, studded doors loomed ahead, they kept their heads lowered and turned swiftly to the narrow door to one side, leading to the dingy staircase and the guardroom at the top, with its view of the drawbridge and the winch for raising the portcullis. Two soldiers sat inside, bleary-eyed and startled.

"Morning, boys!" Gwaine greeted them noisily. "We're here to relieve you. You can go and get some breakfast."

They shifted uncertainly. "We only came on an hour ago..." mumbled the younger of the two, looking hopeful. The other growled and stood up. "Wait, I know you..."

Gwaine shrugged at Elyan. "It was worth a try, eh?"

In the confined space, the fight was short and brutal. The older guard opened his mouth to raise an alarm and quickly found Elyan's fist in it. Gwaine wrapped an arm around the younger one's neck almost companionably and slammed him viciously against the wall. They scrambled to bind and gag the men once they stopped moving and shoved them into a dingy corner.

Outside the window, a voice imitated a bird call.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello, you charming bunch. Thanks for sticking with me. Sorry this has taken so long, and that it is so short. Term-time woes, as I'm sure many of you will understand. It does, however, reunite everyone's favourite king with his favourite sorceror. **

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**(9)**

After Gwaine and Elyan had gone, Arthur stood shakily and crept over to the half-dressed unconscious guards that the knights had left on the dungeon floor. He frisked them quickly and hissed in triumph when he came up with a four-inch knife and, better, the key to his manacles. It was a relief to get the heavy metal off his chafed wrists. He wrapped the chain around a secure ring in the far wall and locked one wrist from each soldier into the cuffs.

As he straightened, his head spun horribly and he clutched the wall, closing his eyes and concentrating hard on calming his empty stomach. He cautiously raised a hand to his head as though by holding it, he could stop the contents from rolling around inside his skull. His skin was warm, and dry as stone, yet he was still shivering. He clung on to the wall and shuffled slowly along to the next cell, where Gaius lay still as the dead, with only his soft snoring giving away that he was still alive. The slice of sky was much brighter now, but the castle still seemed unsettlingly quiet.

Arthur lowered himself to the floor again gratefully, sitting in the doorway of the cell Gaius occupied, fixing his gaze on the door leading to the rest of the castle. He wasn't sure how much good he would be if it came to a fight, but if nothing else he would be a last line of defence for his oldest and most loyal subject. He tucked his injured hand inside his shirt, and with the other gripped the knife he had stolen from one of Morgana's guards. He listened intently, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the knife hilt to focus his attention. The pain in his back was sharp and fierce, keeping him alert, and dulling the competing aches of broken fingers, abused ribs and bloody wrists, and the pervading cold of the dungeon. His fingers' tapping fell into rhythm with his pulse and the throbbing of his wounds. There was no sound from outside; not even the low murmur of the guards' conversations, which were usually discernible in the moments when Gwaine stopped talking.

Footsteps outside shook Arthur out of his reverie and he tensed, rolling sideways onto his knees and clumsily pulling himself into an awkward crouch, knife raised, eyes fixed on the door. The steps were certainly coming closer. They paused briefly and a clatter echoed down the stone corridor as though something had been knocked over. Arthur waited, coiled like a spring. With an ominous creak, the door slid open.

Arthur's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Merlin?" he hissed. "Seriously?"

"Hello, Arthur!" the servant replied cheerily. The smile faded quickly. "You look _awful_."

Arthur chose to ignore him. "Are you completely allergic to doing what I tell you?"

Merlin scuttled further into the room, noticing the sleeping Gaius and tenderly checking the old man's pulse. "No. Maybe," he replied vaguely. Satisfied that his mentor was alive if not precisely healthy, he turned back to the king, who had again sunk to his knees, the knuckles of his good hand pressed against the wall, a knife still closed in his fist.

"The others are coming. They'll be here before long. I'm... what you might call an advance party."

"A scout?" Arthur suggested, quirking an amused eyebrow.

"Something like that." Merlin faltered, uncharacteristically. "Actually, Arthur – I wanted to apologise."

Arthur snorted. "It's about time. What are you apologising for, exactly? The rust on my armour two weeks ago? The woodlouse in my dinner the week before? That time you called me a clotpole..."

"Shut up!" Merlin broke in, earnestly.

"You might as well apologise for that, too," said Arthur wryly.

"Sorry. But do shut up. I'm trying to apologise. For... leaving you. Twice. And letting you end up looking all... like that."

"There's no need. In fact, those may be the only two occasions you've ever done what I asked of you. What _could_ you have done, anyway?" Arthur frowned, considering. "Looking like _what,_ exactly?"

"Like..." Merlin looked the king up and down and lacked the energy to tease him. "Awful." At last, he approached hesitantly and seized one of Arthur's arms – the one that wasn't clutched against his chest – to study the grazes on his wrist.

"Get off me," Arthur protested, as Merlin startled at the temperature of his skin and reached for his forehead.

"You're feverish," said Merlin accusingly.

Arthur spluttered a bit, floundering for a response. He discarded 'go away' and 'you're useless' and settled on the patently untrue "I'm fine."

Merlin scowled. "What does Gaius say?"

"That the wounds are superficial. Will you let go of my arm?"

Doubtfully, Merlin released him, glancing again at Gaius and wondering if illness had made the old man delirious.

"Gwaine and Elyan have gone to the gatehouse," Arthur said, keen to change the subject. "They should be there by now."

"Leon and the others should be there soon, too, if they aren't already. They know this castle much better than Morgana's men do."

Arthur looked up at him suddenly with wide eyes. "Morgana!" he cried.

"No, I'm Merlin, remember..." said the servant patiently.

"Idiot. No, I mean – Morgana has magic. You saw her in the courtyard yesterday – Leon won't have a chance against something like that," Arthur explained.

Merlin tensed, wondering where this discussion was going. "That's... true," he agreed haltingly.

"We have to distract her – keep her occupied..." Arthur began.

"What?" Merlin squawked. "Have you lost your mind? What are _we_ going to do?" He decided he would not like the answer to this question and amended it. "Are you aware that you can barely stand up at the moment?"

Arthur scowled at him. "You'll help me."

"No! She'll kill you. And then she'll kill me, and wear my ribcage as a tiara."

"She hasn't killed me yet," Arthur said softly, as though this were indisputable evidence of something which eluded Merlin.

"Again, you seem to be unaware of your own sorry condition. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but I don't think she likes you."

Arthur smiled sadly. "Come on Merlin. You don't expect me to sit here listening to Gaius snore while my friends are in battle."

"I'm quite tempted to knock you out and put you in bed next to him."

"That would be high treason," Arthur said mildly, pulling himself slowly to his feet.

Merlin groaned. "You can't pull rank on me _now_," he complained.

"Yes I can," Arthur croaked, hooking one arm over Merlin's shoulder. "I'm the king."


	10. Chapter 10

**A Good Man is Hard to Find**

**Ten**

While Elyan pulled the bolts back on the main gate one by one, Gwaine stood facing the keep, a stolen long dagger in each hand. His blood was humming with adrenaline. At last, the ancient hinges creaked softly, and the door swung in just far enough to admit one man at a time. The first to appear was a stranger – scarred and sandy-haired. Gwaine raised his knives defensively.

"Who are you?"

Leon's face appeared behind him. "He's with us."

Gwaine could have sung with relief. He grinned wickedly, clapped Leon's shoulder and nodded at the stranger. "Glad to have you on board, mate. Long live the king," he said, by way of greeting.

The stranger looked surprised briefly, then nodded. "Long live the king," he echoed.

Gwaine and Leon took one door each and pulled them fully open. Silent as ghosts and grim-faced, the knights of Camelot flooded back into their citadel.

~/~/~/~

Merlin watched Arthur attentively, taking note of every movement and every flinch. He held tightly to the king's right hand to secure his hold; the crook of Arthur's elbow resting heavily on the back of Merlin's neck. The left hand was cradled against his ribs protectively, all four fingers bound tightly together. Arthur's step was a little stiff, but more sure-footed than Merlin would have expected.

The first guards they came across were the ones Merlin himself had spelled into slumber on his way in, in the guardroom at the foot of the stairs. Arthur raised an eyebrow upon finding them snoring, but made no comment on this bizarre stroke of fortune. He held his breath, biting his lip to silence any sound. Merlin wished he could explain that it would take more than Arthur's shaky breathing to wake the sleepers, but contented himself with hauling Arthur quickly up the stone steps until, outside, they could finally sigh in relief.

Arthur paused for a moment, his forehead creasing in pain or concentration.

"That was a stroke of luck," Merlin said, by way of distraction. Arthur raised incredulous eyebrows at him.

"Have you ever _heard_ of stealth, Merlin?" he hissed. "I doubt all Morgana's men will be asleep. Even if they are, you're likely to wake them with your loud talking and galumphing around."

Merlin lowered his voice, though the corridor was long and obviously empty. "I don't galumph," he muttered, taking the bait gladly. "I just have a very purposeful, decisive way of walking, like a... like...'

Arthur snorted softly, waving a hand to indicate he was ready to move again. Merlin tactfully didn't point out that Arthur was currently moving even more clumsily than he was. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Can I just repeat that this is the stupidest plan I've ever heard?"

"Your opinion," Arthur huffed, "has been noted."

"And ignored. Like usual. If we get killed, I will haunt you forever. I will follow you around whispering 'I told you so,' in your ear."

Arthur's lips curved in a weary smile. "You do that anyway."

Merlin frowned, and cursed Pendragon stubbornness under his breath. Arthur pretended not to hear him.

~/~/~/~

Gwaine crept toward the armoury, perfectly balanced with a blade in each hand. At the door, he found himself face-to-face with an enemy guard. The bearded southerner creased his forehead in confusion at the sight of Helios' livery on a man followed by two in Pendragon red. Before his sluggish brain could work it out, Gwaine's knife flashed out, cutting off a yell as it rose in his throat. It was enough to bring a second soldier after him, but he, too, was quickly despatched before he could recover from his shock.

In another part of the castle, quiet and distant, Gwaine heard the ringing of steel.

~/~/~/~

Morgana awoke abruptly to a thick silence, giving no hint of the sound which had disturbed her. She glared into her gloomy chambers for a long moment.

A violent knocking startled her.

"My lady! My lady!"

A servant was behind the door when she opened it.

"Intruders in the castle –" he managed, them stopped in shock when a knife embedded itself in his shoulder.

Somebody cursed in the shadows, and then a pale, skinny fist caught the wounded man on the temple, and he collapsed. Morgana gasped in fury, finding herself facing the impudent gaze of none other than Arthur's moronic servant, Merlin. She snarled at him, but another voice drew her attention, and Arthur himself stepped into the pool of light cast by the torch in the wall bracket.

"Morgana," he said pleasantly. "I must speak with you."

She raised a finger to snuff his life out, but Merlin, much too close at her side, hummed a warning, and she found his knife under her jaw. "Careful, my lady," said Merlin guilelessly. Scowling, she backed into the chamber, Merlin and his knife following her closely, and Arthur limping after. He lowered himself gratefully into a chair as soon as the door closed, as though the rooms were still his own.

"What can I do for you, brother?" she hissed. "I have very little time. Your rabble seem to be making one last play for your worthless life."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "We have plenty of time, don't we Merlin? And so much to discuss with you."

Merlin nodded grimly, his eyes intensely focused on Morgana's.

She glared pointedly at him and, ignoring the knife as far as possible, sat down opposite her brother. In the thin grey light just beginning to filter into the room, he looked so weary and grey-faced that, five years ago, she would probably have wept at the sight of him.

She knew better, now. She could see past the handsome face and kind eyes to decades of betrayal, the persecution of her people, the denial of her birthright – face to face, she often had to remind herself that the man before her was the embodiment of all her griefs; he had never been, regardless of her parentage, the brother he pretended to be.

"Are you here to remind me of our childhood games, and appeal to my human charity?" she sneered. Meeting his eyes was like a punch in the gut. "Even by your standards, this is foolhardy. You know I could kill you both, knife or no knife."

Merlin, still pointing the blade at her with as much menace as he could manage, chewed his lip.

"I learned some swift lessons about your human charity this week, Morgana," Arthur said, laying his wounded hand on the table pointedly. "I'm here to appeal to your common sense. Clearly you aren't cut out for tyranny. Camelot's knights will make short work of your southron army – caught by surprise in a castle they don't yet know their way around. They know they're at a disadvantage. How long do you think they'll stay? How much loyalty have you earned from them in this short time?"

Morgana stared coldly at him. He continued in the same quiet, reasonable tone. "You could still appeal to _my_ human charity, Morgana. When you find yourself alone and surrounded by enemies. I can't promise to forgive you, but I have no more desire to see you dead than you, apparently, have to kill me."

"You are very confident that I won't kill you, for a man in your condition," she commented, casting a derisive glance at his bloody wrist and bandaged fingers where they rested on the table. Merlin, beside her, grunted softly in objection, his eyes stony. Arthur, for his part, seemed to be pretending he couldn't hear her. In the brief silence, the sounds of battle in the castle corridors could be heard distinctly.

"We could end all this. We could have peace at last, for my people –" he very deliberately met her eyes " – and yours."

Merlin glanced quickly between the two of them. His agitation was coming off him in waves, balanced by Arthur's disturbing stillness. Morgana focused on her brother.

"I know better than to listen to more of your false promises, Arthur. Why would I trust you, when I could kill you and escape before the knights you have _so much_ faith in have even passed the outer walls? I have no need of Helios' army. I can find new allies, and return. How long do you think Camelot will last without you, before it slips into chaos?"

"You could," he agreed mildly. "But is that what you _want_?"

She narrowed her eyes.

Arthur hesitated. His chilly façade slipped a bit. "I still don't understand why you would want that."

"I want to take back what was taken from me," she hissed, getting to her feet. Merlin moved to intercept her, but with a blast of magic she knocked the knife out of his hand, singeing his fingers, and closed him in an invisible cage of magic. The sounds of battle seemed to be coming from every side now, and getting steadily louder.

"Arthur –" Merlin warned.

"I want you to know the suffering you have caused me, and those you so casually refer to as _my people,_" she went on, fury making her voice crack.

Arthur still had not moved, though she had used no magic to secure him. She blasted away the table that stood between them. Arthur flinched back, raising his palms in a placating gesture, but still made no evasive move. Perhaps, for all his bravado, he was unable to stand. The last report she'd had from his jailers had accounted him fevered and weak, and she had herself borne witness to the blood he had lost. And yet, seated on the high-backed chair with all the insouciance of a king, he was hardly cowering before her as, by rights, he should be. It was infuriating. She wanted to see him fear her before she killed him.

The battle outside was rising to a cacophony. Merlin was yelling something incoherent at her, or at Arthur; she wasn't listening.

Summoning the knife Merlin had dropped to her hand, she struck like a snake, seizing Arthur by the hair and laying the flat of the blade against his bared throat.

"What say you now, brother?" she murmured, proud of the smooth menace in her voice.

Arthur met her eyes directly. So quietly that she had to bend her head closer to his lips, he answered her: "If you truly held me accountable for your griefs, Morgana, you would already have killed me."

Before she could formulate any response, the door to the chamber burst open.

~/~/~/~

~/~/~/~

So many apologies; thank you very much to anyone who is still interested in reading this story*. I write for a living these days (not fiction), so I don't do much writing recreationally – nonetheless, I promised to finish this eventually (sorry it was _so_ eventual) and I stand by that! I think it should be wrapped up in one or two more chapters. Thanks for reading; medals for patience all round!

*CJBH and Jameson especially, thank you for nudging me!


End file.
